BooksBarbecue
Back The House Party
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. April 2008
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. Author’s Note
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. About the Publisher

As he put his coffee cup in the sink, he heard a buzzing in the junk drawer. Glancing around one more time for his dad, Will grabbed his phone, which his father had kept since the night of the party, and flipped it open. The most recent text was from Hunter: We need to talk. Woods after school today? Will texted, OK, and shoved the phone back in the drawer.

14

The ravine between the Finch estate and the O’Connor orchard was where Hunter and Trip had been hanging out for years. It was just far enough from both houses that it escaped any sort of landscaping from either side, and the hollow along the seasonal creek made it a perfect place for the boys to play and shout undetected as kids, and later to smoke cigarettes and hang out with girls.

Hunter was sitting in what remained of the grand tree house project that he and Will had constructed in middle school out of old orchard crates and lumber scraps from Dom Finch’s garage. It had been an all-consuming project, and in those days, before they had cell phones and twice-a-day sports practices, they would show up whenever they could, sometimes working on it alone and sometimes together, or with Trip.

At its peak, the tree house had been epic. They built it into the lap of a weeping willow that rose from the marshy bed of the creek, and the central platform branched into lookouts and escape routes that ran up the limbs, connected by haphazard ladders and rope swings. Every spring, the tree burst into bloom, hiding the tree house under a curtain of pale green leaves. It was their military command base, their X-Men mansion, and their detective agency.

Hunter had been so proud of his creation that one day, on a whim, he had dragged his father away from his desk and out to the woods to see it. Before they even got to the ravine, Hunter had begun to worry that it was a mistake to bring him there. Looking at the tree house through his father’s eyes, he suddenly saw how slapped together the whole thing looked. But to his surprise, his father loved it. He spent a long time examining their design and asking Hunter questions about how they’d made it. Hunter was sure that his dad must have recognized some of the materials that he’d taken from the garage, but he didn’t mention it. It had turned out to be one of the best afternoons he had ever spent with his father.